


How Blaine Learned to Love Breadsticks (Klaine Advent Challenge Day Three)

by marauder_in_warblerland



Category: Glee
Genre: Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2013, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauder_in_warblerland/pseuds/marauder_in_warblerland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After following Santana's culinary advice, Blaine's in for a rude surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Blaine Learned to Love Breadsticks (Klaine Advent Challenge Day Three)

“I hate you.”

“And a good morning to you too, Blaine” Kurt replies, pulling his phone to his ear and flipping through an old _Hammacher Schlemmer_ on the kitchen table. “To what do I owe the honor? Usually you don’t call until at least noon.” 

Blaine huffs on the other end of the line. Kurt can almost imagine his excuse for a glare, like an angry kitten.

“Of course,” Kurt says, “you also usually start with a ‘Hello my dear!’ or ‘How is the love of my life on this fine morning!’” He looks up from the catalogue and imagines one surly fiance sitting across the table. “Granted, ‘I hate you’ is a dramatic change of pace, but I miss the charm of your usual strategy.” He props his chin on one hand and grins. “Am I going to have to get used to a new, angry Blaine when you move in?”

“If I move in.” Blaine shoots back. “Maybe I’ll just move in with Sam or Elliott when I get out there.”

Kurt’s grin fades into a confused stare. “You don’t even know Elliott. You made a puppet for him and that was lovely, but you’ve never actually met him.”

“I realize that,” Blaine’s eye roll is almost audible. “But you just about killed me last night, so I might make an exception.” 

“Killed you?” Kurt’s voice squeaks with the realization that this is not the beginning of “Kurt and Blaine’s roleplaying fun-times.” Sam and Elliott did have a prominent roles in their list of approved scenarios, but death wasn’t even on the menu.

“Does Papa Capaldi’s sound familiar?” Blaine asks, “in Lima Heights?”

“I probably mentioned it.” Kurt shrugs. “Santana hasn’t stopped talking about their pasta primavera since she got to New York.”

“Well, _Kurt_ , I haven’t been able to stop revisiting their pasta primavera since I had it last night,” Blaine groans. “There might be a reason that we didn’t know about the _other_ Italian restaurant in town.” 

“Are you ok?” Kurt unconsciously leans towards the empty kitchen chair as if to grab an imaginary hand.

“OK?” Blaine groans again and his stomach adds a disgruntled gurgle. “I brought my parents! It was like something out of _Bridesmaids_ when we got home, and I can’t even watch that scene in the movie without hiding behind the sofa. Do you remember the sounds that Maya Rudolph made in the middle of the road? It was—“ Blaine broke off in an audible shudder. “It was horrifying. I think my mother already burned her dress.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

“No.” Blaine has never sounded so sure about anything in his life. “No, I don’t, because I love you very much, even though I also hate you right now. You are going to be my husband, and I want to save you from experiencing that horror. I’m taking this one for team Anderson-Hummel. You have no idea … the things I’ve seen.”

Kurt hums what he hopes is a sympathetic sound, because half of him is an awful person who laughs at his fiance’s pain.

Blaine’s stomach gives another, urgent glurg and he moans into in the receiver. “I’m going to get off the phone now. Please kill Santana for me and,” he gags for good measure, “don’t ever go to Papa Capaldi’s.”

“I won’t, honey,” but Blaine’s already gone. Kurt slowly lowers his phone from his ear, closes the catalogue, and eyes the bowl of luke-warm oatmeal waiting on the kitchen counter.

Suddenly, he isn’t hungry any more.

 


End file.
